"And I've been foolin' with him just like all the rest--I thought it was smart! I never knew, for sure, till back there, and now _he'll_ never know . . . he'll not hear me when I tell it to him." Suddenly the monotone grew shrill. "_He'll never hear nothing of what Eve found out_!" "Quiet! Quiet!" I said, and took her hand. "He's only hurt. The doctors will bring him around all right." "No," she said. "I've been foolin' with him. I've been wicked and mean, and it's been sent to punish me." A house surgeon and the engulfing odor of iodoform met us at the door of the emergency ward, whither we were led by a nurse. "We can't tell anything before tomorrow," answered the surgeon to my question. "The pulse is fairly strong, and that means hope." "I must see him," the girl stated. "Sorry," said the surgeon, shaking his head. "No visitors allowed in this ward at night." Two eyes, big and dark and beseeching, were raised to his. They shone from the white face and plead with him. "Oh, doctor . . . _please_!" was all she said, but the eyes won her battle. The nurse joined forces with the eyes. She looked past the surgeon. "Very few in here to-night, Doctor Brandt," she urged. "I wonder what would become of hospital rules if we left it to you nurses!" he protested, as he stepped aside and gently drew the girl within. Down the dim aisle between the snowy beds we went, until the surgeon stopped at one, beside which sat a nurse, her fingers on the wrist of the bandaged occupant. One bloodless hand picked feebly at the covering. The girl took this in both her own and pressed it to her cheek. Then stooping even lower, she cooed to the head on the pillow. "The Big Train's pulled in . . ." muttered a far voice from between the bandages. "Railroad man--isn't he?" inquired the surgeon of me. "No. A horseman," I replied. "He talks about trains. Was it a railroad accident?" "He was injured by a horse called The Big Train," I explained. "Oh--that one," he said, enlightened. "Why don't they shoot him?" "They did," I said. "Good!" exclaimed the surgeon. "That is fine!" After taking the girl to her home, I sent telegrams to "Mr. Van," as I had heard Blister call him--one to Morrisville, New Jersey, and one to the Union Club, New York. Judge and Mrs. Dillon were abroad. When I had telephoned to the hospital the next morning, I went to the office and found a message on my desk. It read: "Have everything possible done. Send all bills to me. He must come here to convalesce." It was headed Morrisville, and was signed, "W. D. Van Voast." That same day Blister was taken to a big, airy, private room with two nurses in attendance. For a time it seemed hopeless. And then the fates decided to spare that valiant whimsical spirit and Death drew slowly back. The stallion had been unshod, and to this and the semi-darkness Blister owed his life.